


young supernovas

by Soretto



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soretto/pseuds/Soretto
Summary: “It is so beautiful here, and yet sometimes it can be so malevolent and unknown, as well.”Percy smiled warmly.“Yes,” he said. “one of the most extraordinary sights that I’d ever seen.”Or, in which we learn of the later life and journeys of Henry Montague and Percy Newton, occassionally observing how the world changed and how it did not, in six scenes.





	young supernovas

_“Why should we build our happiness on the opinons of others, when we can find it in our own hearts?”_

_- **J.J. Rousseau**_

  _"Pirates could happen to anyone."_

_- **T.Stoppard**_

The days passed, first slowly, later suddenly faster and faster, and eventually merged into one continuous period of time. One day, Monty was laying in bed and quietly watching Percy, who was still asleep, breathing evenly and calmly, when he realized he had lost any sense of time.

It seemed that it wasn’t in Santorini’s nature to change much, apparently, as every another day seemed to resemble the previous one. It wasn’t, by any means, an unpleasant existence; the state of doing whatever they pleased, exploring the island, occasionally hiding in an alley from an Ottoman guard (at some point Percy suggested that it was simply impossible for the passing guard not to hear them, but instead he must’ve ignored them. Monty shrugged and continued to fumble with Percy’s breeches), but trying as hard as he could, it seemed impossible to pinpoint exact day and time of particular event and distinguish anything from the long mass of time, where neither hours, nor days, nor weeks seemed to even exist.

The bed was warm and Percy’s body was even warmer. What a fool could dream of leaving this kind of life? Monty raised his hand to his head, but lowered it before he could touch the bandages, imagining what would Felicity say  if she, somehow, could potentially learn that he tried to fiddle with it again. The silence was still there, sometimes the numb pain as well, but  in that moment – Monty in Percy’s arms, laying in warm bed with no need of getting up, he thought that he really could live with just one ear.  

He wouldn’t exactly call it “making a peace with himself”, but he supposed it was as good start as any.

Percy stirred in his sleep, but didn’t wake up, an almost-smile playing on his lips.

_Oh,_ Monty thought, _but I do love him so._

 

I.

Perhaps deciding on their next step would be easier if Monty hadn’t snatched the map up from Percy’s nose, just to kiss him deeply when he turned his head. But Monty did exactly that, and furthermore, later he not only opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, left light pecks on his nose and cheeks, but also quickly began to unbutton Percy’s shirt, which shortly landed them both on the floor, half-naked, lying on the map and in no way having progressed towards setting a next destination. 

They had  quickly moved towards the bed and soon fell upon it, together, landing on a soft mattress with a quiet “oomph”, and as Percy trailed small kisses down Monty’s bare tights, he heard him uttering something in a shaky voice.

“What do you think of Istambul, darling?” Monty said, his head thrown back, eyes closed and hand in Percy’s hair. “I heard it’s quite beautiful.”

Percy gaped at him for a second, and then, honest to god, burst into laughter. Monty smiled at the reaction he got, as it clearly was the one he had been expecting, and then he reached towards Percy, guiding his hands onto his hips.

When later they laid in bed together, sweaty and tired, embracing each other tightly and still smelling like sex and Monty played mindlessly with a loose strand of Percy’s hair, trying to fight off the sleepiness and not fall into unconsciousness, to steal a few more moments of sweet bliss ( _not like there wouldn’t be many, many more_ , he thought), Percy pressed a wet kiss to his forehead.

“So,” he murmured, his lips barely moving. “East?”

 

II.

Felicity held to Percy’s copy of _Paradise Lost_ , and even though she looked only moderately interested, her eyes were still sharp and followed line after line, devouring the book much faster than Monty thought it could be possible.

He hadn’t seen his sister for quite some time; letters seemed a poor substitute for actually seeing her, and after he had finally found a friend in his sibling, he had missed her tremendously. Especially if said sibling was usually sailing all over the seas, patching up the pirates, _pardon,_ privateers and wearing men’s trousers.

They stayed in Lausanne. At first he and Percy were headed for Geneva (finally, he wanted to say), but as they found themselves so close to Genovese Lake that, had they wished, they could take long walks on the lake shores, they couldn’t seem to leave.

It was nice, Monty decided.  Reminded him of Santorini, though not as bloody hot as the Greek island.

When Felicity had informed them that she’d be leaving for the land for some time, they immediately insisted for her to visit them in Switzerland. When she had arrived and stumbled out from her carriage, promptly carrying her own luggage, wearing a green dress (Monty wondered if she welcomed the change in her wardrobe or perhaps had grown so accustomed to wearing trousers that dress seemed like a prison to her, just as he thought of frilly and extremely tight women’s garments), Monty had embraced her tightly and enthusiastically, perhaps much more than it was proper, but God damn it, he hadn’t cared before and he certainly wasn’t about to begin caring now.

And so, soon they were spending all of their afternoons by the lake, Felicity and Percy reading or discussing something that Felicity had learned, Monty looking at them or the lake, so very sure which sight – the endless blue of the great water or the two people he loved the most, focused and with brows furrowed, leaning over a book – was dearer to his heart.

“I’m sure the most amazing poetry could be written here,” Monty said, one afternoon, and Percy and Felicity raised their heads. “Or other marvels of literature, as well.”

“Oh?” his sister said and Monty shrugged and pointed towards the lake.

“It is so beautiful here, and yet sometimes it can be so malevolent and unknown, as well.”

Percy smiled warmly.

“Yes,” he said. “one of the most extraordinary sights that I’d ever seen.”

They certainly agreed on that one.

 

III.

It was a warm July and they decided to spend the summer in Prussia. Percy, as usually, brought along his violin, so he could teach children of the wealthy or play a Pachelbel for anyone with ears willing to listen.

People had talked and gossiped about the war. It didn’t take a philosopher to feel the tensions, but Monty and Percy decided that waiting somewhere safe would be rather boring and they hoped that Englishmen would not be endangered in Prussia, and thus they were safe, as long as they avoided French borders.

 “Isn’t Potsdam beautiful, this time of the year?” Percy mused. “This is a place where the Enlightenment is happening. I’m sure Felicity would appreciate it.”

“Certainly,” Monty answered him. “Though, if you’ll be so kind to understand, I’ rather avoid the palaces. We wouldn’t want another Versailles, here in Sassouci, would we?”

Percy snorted in rather undignified way and covered his mouth with the back of his hand and his eyes lit up so beautifully that Monty could write sonnets about them.

“God, Monty. You have no idea how mad at you was I, back then,” he remarked.

“I can imagine,” Monty answered coyly, smile playing upon his lips.

He ran his fingers through his hair, tied in loose ponytail on his neck. It was long enough to cover that wretched scarring and literal lack of one ear of his. Percy assured him that many nobles who were involved in one of European wars sported their injuries and war scars with pride, but Monty insisted on covering his.

“Do you know what they say about the Prussian king?” Monty said suddenly, breaking the silence between them, smirking. Percy raised his eyebrows, surprised with sudden change of topic.

“I know he plays the flute. What a shame it’s not a violin.”

Monty clucked his tongue and his eyes shone, as though he was about to tell the greatest secret or spill the grandest knowledge ever known to a man. “They say he fancies men.”

“Really?” Percy answered, and after a moment added, though in not very serious voice. “Is that why you wanted to visit Prussia so badly?”

Monty shrugged. ”Hardly, but you must admit that it is an, so to speak _, interesting_ piece of information.”

The taller man rolled his eyes a bit. Out of all things this one piece of scandalous gossip was the one to interest Monty.

“Just think of it! Perhaps one day there will be a day for a king to have a husband.”

Monty was smiling very smugly, even for him, so Percy couldn’t quite figure out if that was merely a jest or was he supposed to actually imagine that. It didn’t make much of a difference, of course, but it’s a nice thing to dream, he supposed.

 

IV.

As it turned out, the winters in Poland could be bloody cold and thus both Percy and Monty were forced to remain inside, for yet another day. Neither of them spoke a tad of Polish, so they relied on chance of random people knowing French or English.

“This, perhaps, wasn’t the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had in my life.” Monty said, stretching the syllables. His hair was loose and when he moved it showed a bit of his scarring. Percy knew he could still be self-conscious about it, so he liked when Monty didn’t put much effort into masking it, even if they spend days indoors with nobody else to notice them.

“Thank God we didn’t choose St. Petersburg, after all,” Percy said. “We’d absolutely freeze to our deaths.”

Monty nodded.  “I still want to see it, though. Next summer, perhaps. Or the next one.”

They fell into silence; Monty didn’t mind it. Yes, he was quite talkative and enjoyed the sound of both his and Percy’s voice tremendously, but he also grew to rather like the occasional silence between them, that wasn’t awkward or coming from a lack of connection, but rather stemmed from a mutual understanding so good, that there needn’t to be any words.

“I really wanted to see the Opera,” Monty said.

“We still can,” Percy answered him, but his lover replied with only a snort.

“No, thank you, darling. Not when it involves moving away from this very fireplace.”

Percy shrugged, and after a moment said:

“For the record, I don’t think it was a bad plan. It’s beautiful here, and I can have you all to myself for long days.”

He glanced at Monty, who bore the expression of pride, love and smugness mixed into one; his eyes shone and his mouth curled up, just a little.

Percy wished he had a painting of Monty, with that exact expression, to always have the possibility of seeing him just like that. He thought briefly about convincing Monty to sit for a portrait but then again, what good would be of the sight, if he would have to share it with a painter, no matter how skilled and talented?

In the moments like that, he always wished he could paint himself.  

 

V.

“Have you heard, darling?” Monty asked, as he emerged from the vestibule, a newspaper in one of his hands. Percy stopped untying his cravat and looked at him, eyebrows raised. Monty’s expression was unreadable. He clearly was moved by something, though Percy could not tell if it was because of his great joy or quite contrary.

Before Percy could ask what exactly had happened, Monty shoved the paper into his arms and said. “The colonies have proclaimed their independence! From England!”

Percy tilted his head. “Really? _Aut Caesar, aut nihil_?”

He skimmed through the front page and Monty furrowed his brows. He didn’t look too surprised,  and Percy didn’t feel like that, either, as though he had been expecting it to happen.

“It would appear so, though I suppose the nihil part is more probable,” he said. “The rebellion certainly cannot hold on for too long, before they jump to each other’s throats.”

“Maybe you don’t give them enough credit, dear.”

Monty opened his mouth, but then he closed it again.

“England protects her own lands,” he said, though there was a tone of uncertainty in his voice.

“Perhaps it is not hers anymore,” Percy answered him. “Why do you care?”

Monty blinked; he wasn’t sure, really. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel an Englishman anymore, nor any disdain for his country in general (of course, he still hated how it treated people like him and like Percy, and how it treated women and so many different things); rather he felt much more distanced from it. _Did his travels make him that?_ , he wondered. _Or his age, perhaps?_ Suddenly England seemed more like a fickle mistress, than something he ought to love with all his heart.

“I,” he stammered. “I don’t know.”

And true to his words, he had no bloody idea.  

 

VI.

When Percy woke up, Monty wasn’t next to him in bed. It wasn’t too unusual, as the years passed by, they’d seemed to exchange sleeping patterns – Percy was the one who slept in late, now, with Monty up, watching him, reading or making them a cup of tea.

This time, Monty was standing in front of the window, dressed only in yesterday’s shirt, relaxed and motionless, hair falling down messily on his shoulders.

And the Edinburgh seemed as quiet as never.

The sun of early morning shone through the window and Monty’s light-brown hair looked almost like liquid gold. Neither of them had yet begun getting gray, but the wrinkles, creases and laughter lines were now permanently stuck on their faces. Percy didn’t complain, he liked how it softened Monty’s usual expression, making his smile seem more genuine.

He got up and the bed creaked loudly. Percy grimaced at the rather loud noise, but Monty either didn’t hear it or didn’t care, because he hadn’t moved an inch.

As Percy approached him, Monty turned his head slightly towards him, not really facing him, but enough to let him know that he knows Percy was behind him.

Ah, so he heard it. Or perhaps he heard Percy’s feet, even if he tried to walk as lightly and not make any sound.

After so many years after Monty had been shot, his hearing, even though he had completely lost half of it, strangely seemed to improve, as though he began to take great care to listen to his surroundings.

Percy put his hand on Monty’s hip and nuzzled his nose into his soft hair. Monty put his hand on Percy’s and they stood like that, together, neither of them moving nor saying a word, until Percy sighed quietly.

“I do believe I’m the happiest person on Earth, dear,” he said and Monty smiled.

“I should hope so,” he answered him. “Not returning the favor on my side would be so very unkind to you.”

“I want to stay here,” he added after a moment. “For longer than usually.”

Percy only nodded and knew that they would.

So maybe they had been getting old and maybe they were no longer fit for dealing with pirates, dukes, wars and other peculiar events, that seemed to be fit not for real life, but an adventure book that young Percy would read to young Monty with flush on their faces, not even in wildest dreams suspecting what might await them in the years to come.  

But then again, they thought, both at the very same time, the pirate-, adventure- and danger-less flat in Edinburgh was enough. To drink the morning coffee, together. To let the routine take over. To hide the bruises under the collar.  To see the turn of nineteenth century. To finish their journey in nothing but happy ending.

It was all enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading!  
> Recently, I've read tggtvav and adored it tremendously & I sincerly hope I hadn't butchered it with this.  
> Sorry for any mistakes - I'm not a native English speaker & sadly don't write nearly as much as I should.  
> The dates:  
> I settled on setting tggtvav just after the War of Austrian succession (so about 1750, based on interval period between the War of Jenkins' Ear and the Anglo-Spanish War of '62-'63), the Lausanne about two to three years after, Potsdam just before the Seven Years' War, and the epilogue around 1777, which would make Percy and Monty in their early to mid 40s. Hope I didn't mess this up too much.  
> I wish I knew the art of subtle historical references, but I'm afraid hitting somebody with a history textbook wouldn't be more obvious.  
> The title's from "High Hawk Season' by The Mountain Goats.  
> Hit me up on my tumblr -  soretto 


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